Original subtitles

Good evening. It's wonderful to be back with you once again, isn't it, Ronnie?

Indeed it is. And in a packed programme tonight, I shall be talking to the

Animal Freedom Now group, who claimed a big success today after they raided the

Amersham branch of the Army and Navy stores and liberated four dozen donkey

jackets.

And I'll be talking to a man who crossed a Venus fly trap with a sprig of

mistletoe to get a plant which gives you a nasty bite but then kisses it better.

But first, the news.

Claims that Mr. Norman Tebbit is becoming more popular were confirmed

Somebody touched him with a barge pole.

After the funeral at Watford Gap today of Britain's worst motorway chef,

Stodge, former customers stayed behind to dance on his gravy.

The Bromsgrove woman, who caused traffic chaos by making love to a succession of

men in her sports car, has pleaded not guilty to obstructing the highway.

She says she was only giving way to oncoming motorists.

But sad news tonight from Lord George Davidson Circus, where, after an

unfortunate accident, Purgeo, the human rhubarb stick, has been forced into

retirement.

And now a sketch featuring Mr. Ronnie Corbett, just back from acting in a film

in the Sahara Desert with Raquel Welch. She'd rather put him in the shade.

I say, that was really jolly good, that one. I must say, I really enjoyed that.

Thanks very much.

It's a super game, isn't it? I can't understand why I've never tried it

Absolutely lovely.

I loved it. But thanks to you, old boy, of course, from now on, I should be a

dedicated squish player.

Squash. Huh?

The game is called Squash. Oh, Squash. That's right. Yes, I'm sorry.

Who actually won? I mean, I couldn't quite grasp the scoring mechanism.

Did I win? Yes, you flaked. Yes, you won.

You won.

Oh, that's good.

How many goals did I get?

Goals? Well, you know, the thing is... Points.

Points. Points, yes. Points. How many points did I get? Well, the score was,

you want to know, game love, game love, game love, game love.

See? Yes.

You won four games.

to love. Oh, I see. So I got poor and you got love. Yeah. I see. How many is

love?

Love is nothing.

Oh, no, no, that's not right. I'm sure, because I'm sure you got a goal earlier

on, right at the beginning.

A point. A point, I mean. Yes, a point. Yes, of course I did. That was when

you... Oh, I know. I was holding the thing by the wrong end.

I must remember.

Hold the bat by the thin end. The racket.

Racket, I mean. The racket. Yes.

This is...

This is a ball. The game is called squash.

That'll start from basic principle. The whole thing is called squash. This is a

ball. This is a blasted racket.

That is a racket. I'm free.

Will it work now you've done that?

I don't much care, to be honest.

I'm not going to be playing squash anymore, ever.

Oh, I see.

That's a pity, because I was hoping we could have another game next week.

I mean, I thought, well, you know, I thought I might get a bit better.

A bit better?

A bit better?

Look, matey, I am the secretary of this squash club.

You know, I mean, I captain the A team.

You know, I'm one of the best players round here.

You know, I won the area finals last year and all that sort of thing, you

You know, I'm good.

You know, good.

And you come along here, if I may say so, you've never played the game before,

you're vastly overweight, if I may say so, you're very slow on the court,

gone up that court in your ruddy Burton suit, and you've thrashed me,

you've pounded me into the ground.

in front of my friends, four games to love.

Well, how do you do it?

Beginner's luck.

It's a fluke. That's what it is, a fluke, mate. It won't happen again, I'll

you what. It won't happen the next time. No, it won't be the next time, because

you've broken your rocket. My racket!

I'll get a new one, I don't care. I'll get a new one. Look, mate, I'll get a

one, and tomorrow morning, here, ten o 'clock, Things will be different. Oh,

no. Sorry, old boy. No, not tomorrow. No can do. What do you mean, no can do?

Well, I've got to go up to a place called Lord's tomorrow. I've got to meet

chaps called Botham and Willis. I've got to play a game called Crack It or

something.

Our

guest

this week, ladies and gentlemen, Elaine Page.

The sun will come out tomorrow.

There's a bottom dollar that tomorrow there'll be sun.

Thinking about tomorrow.

Lift away the conquest and the sorrow.

Still there's none when I'm stuck with a day.

I say, Godfrey, what is it, Humphrey?

How's your headache?

She's out playing bridge.

Oh, come on, old fellow.

You shouldn't talk about the old girl like that, you know.

Love makes the world go round.

Well, so's a punch on the nose, old man.

Now, I've had bad luck with both my wives. The first one divorced me, and

second one won't.

It's a case of love at first sight with me.

Oh? Why didn't you marry her? I saw her again on several occasions.

So you married someone else? Yes.

She's frightfully slow.

Slow? What at?

everything, old boy.

Takes her a whole day to make instant coffee.

The trouble is, I'm hem -picked. Oh, mustn't be, old lad.

No, mustn't be. Stand up to her. Show her who's boss.

I'm going to.

I've made up my mind.

I'm going to pluck up courage and tell her something I've been wanting to tell

her for ages.

Oh, what's that?

I must have a new apron.

and welcome to the book programme.

William Shakespeare, it is generally agreed, has provided the English

with more sayings, proverbs and quotes than any other writer.

Every other book title is a quote from the Bard.

Many plays in the theatre do the same.

Why then should not television follow suit?

Here, with a little help from our caption department, is the scene from

VI, part one.

faster pace, when for my crowning we must soon prepare.

By liege, I have the information close.

Then spill it out.

Thou art already late.

Thou hadst foresworn to bring me news at ten.

But tell me first, how may I seek to rid my royal self of that arch -villainess

that calls herself the Queen?

Queen, so she is. She is your consort, sire.

Or will be so when you are crowned next week in Westminster.

Motherland, her beauty is renowned.

Her person is respected nationwide.

Her person is the Duke of Hastings, sir. He is her lover and must get the job.

Daily they flaunt their fever in the court. He arrogant and bold and she all

smiles.

contented with her lot and with her bed, each night with her bride's head

revisited.

Revenge shall be complete.

My crowning's perk, my coronation's treat.

Don't furnish evidence with all.

Observe the queen's speech when she's with him close.

As oft beneath the starry sky at night,

He speaks in tones both moribund and wise.

And he, during the reign of John, kept silent and endured the tyrannies.

Don't mind her.

That will I, most royal liege. He often plots with Lovell against the crown.

These points of view are treason you well know.

He can it think, but can he ever it show?

He must be cornered with some trumped -up charge of treasonable acts, both

little and large.

To the tower.

No blemish shall besmirch my nuptial hour.

Come, dancing maidens.

Prophets, play away.

Drums that do beat at night.

Must throb in day.

The song of praise proclaim us well. Let Hastings lose his

head.

You'll find us morning, noon and tea time on our feet.

Sweeping up the bits of litter around your feet.

To keep the highways and the byways nice and neat.

Let me repeat.

Out in the street.

You'll find us out there in the cold or in the heat.

It is our duty to perform and to complete.

The sort of work that can be hardly called a treat.

Not very sweet.

Just a couple of working boys

Doing a job like others

Putting up with

all the jokes From the...

Somebody has to do it. Somebody has to do it. Somebody has to do it.

Nobody wants a mucky job, but someone must go through it.

Somebody's got to lift it, shovel it up and chip it, sweep it and scrape it,

squash it and shape it, kick it around and try to get rid of it, keeping it

and tidy, so long as we're paying on Friday.

What's the point in making a lot of fuss?

Though we may all poo -poo it, somebody has to do it, and somebody's decided

that it's us.

It ain't much fun.

It is the sort of work a lot of people shun.

But then it can't be said that we're the only one.

There are a lot of other jobs that must be done.

That ain't much fun.

Now take the Queen.

Although the work she has to do is nice and clean, it must be tiring being on

the public scene.

And looking fresh as paint no matter where she's been.

And still to read.

It may look just like a

game All that glamour All

that fame Maybe so

Somebody has to do it. Somebody has to do it. Nobody wants to be the queen, but

someone must go through it.

Opening public functions, banquets and balls and luncheons.

Ruling the land and waving her hand and changing the guards and tripping the

colour and training the derby with us.

Getting the Duke kissed in her.

Baby 64, the Prince of Wales.

Smiley looking regal.

Acting like an eagle and always keeping clear of the horse's tail. That's where

he's coming from. Somebody has to do it.

Somebody has to do it.

Somebody has to do it.

Somebody's decided.

Somebody's decided.

Somebody has to do it.

And that's us.

I say, Godfrey.

What is it, Humphrey?

You've got your shoes on the wrong feet.

It's impossible.

These are the only feet I've got.

Anyway, my head is in no fit state to think about my feet.

Hungover? Absolutely draped, old boy.

Well, tear up, old lad. No one ever died of a hangover. Oh, don't say that,

Humphrey. It's only the hope of dying that's keeping me alive.

Who were you with, Godfrey?

Oh, Geoffrey, Humphrey. We both left the party together.

He was so drunk I couldn't see him.

I took him to the East End for coffee.

You should never give coffee to a drunk. All you get is a wide -awake drunk.

Is he deaf or nervous? Well, he's getting better. He's in hospital.

Hospital? Why?

Well, we were sitting on the Westminster Bridge playing who could lean over the

farthest, and he run.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13.

Don't want to overdo it.

That's right.

Ah, g'day, Ross.

G'day, Craig.

You're late, mate. We're supposed to be having a meeting here.

I know that, you stupid drongo, but where were you yesterday?

I had some strife with me car.

Pack of dingoes ate the tires.

Dropping? What's dropping?

Kookaburras dropping by the look of it.

You know what? I went down the billabong. I was bitten on the set -upon

gillagon.

The blueberry truck was commandeered to fight a bushfire.

They used beer to put the fire out? Yeah, after they drank it, yeah.

What are you going to drink, then, huh?

What's that new glass?

Dust. I'll have a big one of those.

Where's Bruce?

Bruce went out the back about three days ago to the dunny.

Don't take that long to read the paper. I know.

and the spider got him.

I thought you'd blocked all the holes up. Well, I did, but he was living in

toilet roll.

Yeah, Bruce had never locked himself in there. He can't get out now. We can't

get in either.

Have you seen anything of Wayne McLaren?

Only his belly button.

He went to Hanging Rock with some abos.

Turned out he was the picnic.

Where's Rooney?

Rooney's gone a bit strange. I reckon the loneliness has got to him.

Well, he should never have joined the Royal Paris Band Club.

Anyhow, his wife reckons he was wandering and acting queer.

Now he's gone mince about.

That was only you, me and Dennis. Yeah, except Dennis.

Oh, him too.

Ah, yeah, he went down to Dalton's Creek to pray for rain, and it did.

He drowned it? No.

Jellyfish? No. No, he was washed out to sea.

It was found in seven separate sharks.

Typical. Typical. Just an excuse, the wowser. Yeah.

You ought to have made the effort to get here, oughtn't you? Well, let's get on

with it now. Come on now.

I made the effort after all I got here, didn't I? Had a bit of luck while you

were out there. A sandstorm blew up and the alligators couldn't see us, you see.

I lost my sandwiches. I was just going to eat some deadly nightshade when the

locusts got in. And would you believe?

They'd bitten on the upper thigh with a king snake, and a swarm of vampires came

down and sucked the poison out.

Don't let's waste time on trivialities, Ross.

We've come here to rehearse this commercial.

Yeah, what do you think of that, I thunk up?

Yeah, together, you mean? Yeah.

Hey, you drongos, come and visit Australia for a safe and reliable

holiday of a lifetime.

Yes, you poms, come and say, Good night.

Good night.

And you want me through and through.

Yet you won't fulfill my yearning.

Just dampen down my dream.

I'm sorry, but I can

Ain't nobody left worth talking to.

Cause I've lost my little John.

Everybody loved my cockatoo.

He would whistle at the crow.

Flowered right free at the piece of his wife.

Got the mission, we did well.

Now he's good for it, the cotton guy.

Now dear my son, my parrot guy.

He's lying there apart.

It's courtesy of Bhagavad -Gita.

Dear, tonight I would like, if I may, to relate a very funny story

that I heard when I...

Sorry,

what's that? I think the producer just shot himself.

There's plenty of time for that when we get to the joke.

Anyway, this is a very funny story that, funnily enough, that

noise is reminding me of a very old show business adage, you know, that every

time you hear an unexpected noise, like a bang, it means that someone backstage

who doesn't like your act. That's true.

Now, the story I was going to...

they've missed out the tea lady, actually.

Oh, I see.

Thank you very much for that. Slightly bad timing.

I was... What I was going to say was that tonight I have actually been

to tell a joke for charity.

Now, this means that every time I get a laugh tonight, a pound will go to the

Shepherds Bush home for underprivileged studio audiences.

I know what you're thinking. I know what you're thinking. How will they manage

on 50p?

No, and there he goes again, trying to make us feel guilty for not laughing at

his pathetic old joke. But the fact is, I do have a philanthropic side to my

nature. Certain things are very close to my heart.

My feet, for example.

And I'd like, if I may, to dedicate it to my agent.

A very dear friend. To be honest, his business has fallen on hard times

Once upon a time, when you rang the office, you got this highly

answering machine, and now they've got a parrot that takes messages.

Well, everyone's having to trim back these days, aren't they? I mean, to be

honest, where I live, you know, they've just opened a self -service crematorium.

And the GLC's cutbacks are beginning to bite, too.

Once upon a time, to dig a hole in the road, they used a pneumatic drill.

Now they've got Cyril Smith on a pogo stick.

There I go, rambling again. And to be honest, I'm already... I'm rambling away

here. I'm already in the producer's bad books this week. On Wednesday, I was up

in his office waiting to see him, reading rather an interesting magazine

article, actually, about the dying art of roof -thatching by Arthur Scargill's

hairdresser.

Barry Manilow put his nose round the door.

And, well, not all the way round, obviously.

You know, about halfway round.

And then in came the producer's secretary, a very pleasant lady. Very

indeed. Not altogether with it, but very nice.

I once asked her for a fibre tip.

And she told me to eat more prunes.

He sent me into the producer, now, who, to be honest, was still looking a bit

shaky. He'd been trying to adjust the height on his swivel chair, and he'd

screwed his head into the ceiling.

Anyway, he beckoned me over with his mug of starch -reduced whip bread, and he

said, ah, Corbett, he said, what is all this I hear about these photos?

I said, photos?

Now, I knew it would get out sooner or later. The fact is...

And you might as well know it now. I recently posed for a set of

nude photographs

for Playgirl magazine under the heading Raunchy

Ronnie.

A comic stripped.

It's all very tasteful, actually, you know. I mean, the nude centrefold is all

quite decent, you know.

Unless you lift the staple.

He wasn't too pleased, so to keep my nose clean, tonight, no rambling of any

kind, straight on with the story.

Picture the scene.

A sleepy little village in Surrey.

Nice old semi -detached house.

Man in bed with the wife.

Wife's husband comes home.

Unusual so far.

Well, straight away, the wife jumps out of bed, wipes the steam off the windows.

Memories of Brian and Julie.

Looks outside and down below there's her husband getting out of the car carrying

a dead cow in his shoulders.

My God, she said, he's come back early from the slaughterhouse and brought some

work home with him.

Well, it so happens that I know because I myself once worked in a

slaughterhouse. Glasgow Empire it was called.

I was in a pantomime, you know, where the audience threw so much fruit.

Humpty Dumpty ended up as a tomato omelette.

So there are this couple in the bedroom, and the man, not wanting to risk

sliding down the drainpipe with no clothes on, leaps.

The pain of that is called silence.

Leaps across the room and hides in the wardrobe.

And as he's in there crouching in the shadows, suddenly he hears this voice

saying, Coo, isn't it dark in here?

And he looks down, and there beside him is this little boy, you see.

Good gracious, he said, how long have you been in here?

The little boy said, I've seen everything, and I'm going to tell my

Oh, no, don't do that, Sir Chapsley, don't do that. Look, if you promise to

quiet, he said, I'll give you a nice crisp ten -pound note.

Certainly not, said the little boy. I've been brought up as a good Catholic boy,

and that would be bribery.

Besides, ten quid's not enough.

Sir Chapsley said, all right, five quid. He says, done.

Sad indictment on our educational standards today.

So he takes the money, and he's sitting there at breakfast, the little boy, the

next day, brandishing this fibre. And his father says, where did you get that?

He said, a nice gentleman gave it to me, Daddy. Father said, don't tell me a

lie, you stole it, didn't you? You're a disgrace to your religion. And you know

what happens to people who mock their religion?

Their fingers all drop off one by one.

He says, look at Dave Allen.

Off you go to church, he says, and confess.

So off the little boy goes to the local church.

Steps into the confessional box and pulls the curtain behind him. Looks

he says, Coo, isn't it dark in here?

And a voice from the other side says, Not you again.

On the 7th of June, 1844, on the remote marshlands of northern Canada, the last

living example of the great auk was found dead.

it to be enchanted, the villagers fashioned a model of the bird in purest

Legend decreed that the golden auk possessed strange magical powers and a

prophetic warning for all mankind.

For a hundred years, greed and avarice drove many men to kill for it.

This is their story.

1933, and the golden auk had been missing for 20 years.

until the beautiful archaeologist, Melissa Winthrop, stumbles across a

revealing the statue's whereabouts.

But a foreign power are soon on to her. To kidnap her and make her talk, the

Germans dispatch their evil emissary, Dr. Heinrich von Hesseltine.

Melissa, in the clutches of the Nazis, there was only one man in England

equipped to rescue her.

Little Hampton Jones.

Old famous troubleshooter. And the only man known to have failed the medical for

the oval teams.

A demon with a horse whip, Little Hampton could rope in a wild animal at

feet.

A master of illusion, Little Hampton smuggles himself into Germany disguised

a nun.

He soon tracks down his arch -adversary, von Heseltine, to a crumbling old house

near Munich.

Tell us where we can find the oar.

No. Never.

Never.

No, no, damn you.

You do not impress me with your false bravado, Miss Winstead.

I have known grown men sell their own grandmothers rather than endure the

traditional Bavarian folk dancing.

I think you should know that I am not a man to be trifled with,

my dear.

No, he is not a man to be trifled with.

Either you tell me the real... He'll soon make you talk, don't worry about

Either you tell me the real...

stop using the latest truth drugs, but he is the quickest, definitely.

Oh, he can wring a confession out of you so fast. Will you shut up?

Who is carrying on this interrogation, you or me?

Eh?

I'm surrounded by simpletons.

Shut your great fat go.

Now, my dear, in return for this information...

not to shout at me.

I promise I won't shout at you anymore.

I won't shout at you. It's a nice little dog.

Now, my dear, you've had time to consider my question.

What is your answer?

Don't bore your face, you big fat shark, right?

I see.

You want time? to sink it over.

Very well.

But let me assure you, my dear Fraulein, that I shall stop at nothing until the

fabled orc is in my hands.

Never shall I let up until its magic and secret prophecies are mine.

No one, but no one...

Esselstyn's got an army of pygmies with poison darts. Pygmies, poison darts?

I've never heard of anything so ridiculous.

You idiot!

Have you seen the seat of your trident?

My God!

Is it serious?

Serious? The poison's fatal unless it's sucked out straight away.

Well, I think that's got it all right now, Mr. Jones.

I'm lucky we find this.

Now,

my little dove, you have had time to consider.

I hope that you have now decided to be a sensible girl.

So far,

is not entirely

with the Great Ork restored to its place of honor in the British Museum.

You never really believed it, did you, Miss Winthrop? You know, all this hokum

about magic prophecy.

Who knows?

I don't suppose there's really any truth in it.

What's my name?

meant there.

Well, I guess that's that.

There never was a secret prophecy attached to it after all.

Well, that... seems to be just about all we have time for tonight, but before we

go, a few items of late news.

Yes, the All England Pro -Am Wine Tasting Festival ended today when the

President carried out the closing ceremony and two waiters carried out

Reed.

All the hens at a chicken farm in Woodbridge, Suffolk stopped work today

protest against flexible roostering.

Oscar Chumworthy, Grantham's most sociable man, was buried today. In a

tributes, he was described as a big wheel in the Rotarians, a brick in the

Masons, and a right weirdo in the Oddfellows.

Next week, we'll be bringing you edited highlights of the Gay Lib Highland

Games, and we'll be watching them tossing the salad.

And I'll be interviewing health food fanatic Sir Oswald Musely.

Good night from me. And it's good night from him. Good night.

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